Always and Forever

For my new sister-in-law, this is congratulations. For my brother, this is something else.

I do want to congratulate my brother on his marriage to his beautiful bride, Melanie, yesterday. However, I can't help but feel that I've been kicked around the past couple of days.

You know, I understand yesterday, last night, and pretty much the past few weeks have been there time. And rightfully so. But there were a couple things that have gone on that when you think about it are down right insulting. And none of it make sense.

Like, 5 groomsmen and 4 bridesmaids? Guess who was the 5th groomsman-- me. Which really set off the symmetry of the wedding party, and made for some interesting moments at the wedding and reception.

I don't get why there was a extra groomsman. I'm certainly not complaining... I was honoured to be a part of the wedding party, but I can't help but think that someone, somewhere, made a threat to ensure I was a groomsman, and not just an usher.

It was bad enough that I had to walk down the aisle by myself at the church. But I really felt like a fifth-wheel at the reception when the wedding party got to dance. There I am stadning around, looking for anyone to dance-- or the DJ to play Eric Carmen's "All By Myself"... or maybe Billy Idol's "Dancing With Myself". After a quickly aborted idea of having me dance with the Best Man's 2-year-old daughter, my cousin Danielle came to my rescue... but even that was a little awkward.

I am also the only groomsman or usher who has not received a gift from the couple for being in their wedding.

And for the most part, I could care less-- I reamined silent, I didn't complain, I just laughed it all off. Or atleast I did until the conversation I had with my brother 2 hours ago.

You see, my brother called me from somewhere in Missouri (he's driving through on his honeymoon) to bitch me out about a dent to his car. He wanted to know who was "dancing on top of his car" Friday night-- when the Best Man, the Best Man's friend, and I saran-wrapped his 1995 Ford Explorer.

You see, there was no dancing, but someone had to be on top of the car to get the roll over the top of the car. I was the lightest of the options.

But then it hit me. Why did he ask if I was the only person on top of the car? I know why. This is one of those, big brother - little brother "you broke my G.I. Joe, and I'm still pissed" things. Had it been Eric or Matt on top of the car-- it would have been: "OK, fine." No, this was me, fucking up something of his. I just became a matter of me being able to do no right, and giving him an option of throwing is weight around-- because we all know that now that he's married, his ass is owned by his wife (though many of us would argue that he was owned 4 years ago when they started dating).

My brother is such a whiny little bitch. It's always gotta be about him. (I think he's a little pissed that I was getting along too well with his other groomsmen-- 3 of whom I had not met until Friday, and the other who used to torture me when he was in high school.) It's OK bro, it's a 10-year old car, and if it really means that much to you, I'll find 3 or 4 guys and we'll punch the roof back out that half-inch when you get back from your honeymoon... if you're wife doesn't kill you first for the insurance money.

But the best part was the response from my parents. To start, upon seeing the shrink-wrap job on the car, the three of us received a standing ovation from my parents and their friends. But when I told them my brother was crying about the dent, they just chalked it up to him being stressed. They just laughed.

I mean, it took his 48 hours to find the damn dent, he didn't notice it when he was driving... so who gives a fuck? (His claim is that the resale value of his car would be nothing now.) It's a 10-year-old SUV that a cop drives when off duty. THERE WAS NO RESALE VALUE TO BEGIN WITH!

If he really want to get into this with me, I'll remind him of the transmission he blew in my, then 20-year-old (1983 Ford) LTD, when he decided he wanted to see how fast the "Grandpamobile" would go before breaking up. Your badge is not a permit to be reckless with a car, asshole.

Just remember, you were so unhappy to have to drive the 1980 Datsun 210 when you got your license in 1995-- so unhappy you totalled it three weeks later. That, of course, was an accident, he was looking to seeif he needed to shift gears when he hit the rear of a 1995 Ford Explorer... how ironic. I didn't bitch about my car. The alternative was to walk.

You may be on your honeymoon now... but for me, the ceremony is over... and so is your honeymoon. I'm not going to let you shaft me like this. I'll have more respect for you when it comes time for me to take the vows. And then you'll really feel like an asshole.